I wheezed, clutching my chest. Gods.
“Now, would you like dessert? You prefer chocolate.”
If he was eating, then he wasn’t talking. But I couldn't let that comment slide. “I don't know when you decided to play with me, but I'm not biting, Renaud. I'm not sleeping with you.”
I winced. Bad idea—waving a red cape in front of a bull.
Glee lit his eyes. “So you protest,” he crooned. He ran his finger through the thick frosting, then brought it to my lips. “Open.”
It took me two tries to form a coherent thought. “Are the spoons made of iron or something? Why are you using your finger?” I knew why he was using his finger. He oozed why he was using his finger.
“It pleases me.”
I loved arichslice of chocolate cake. It was a best seller in each of my cafes. That—and a bottle of sweet red—was usually my choice of indulgence after a long day.
But I refused to lick frosting off Renaud. Especially since the flickering flames in his eyes revealed he was imagining my lips licking chocolate off of something other than his finger.
I shook my head. “No.”
“Are you certain you wish to refuse what I offer, Aerinne? Is Lavendre not enjoying her unexpected freedom?”
Just like that, I hated this male all over again. Obviously he wasn't all that concerned with little things like enthusiastic, uncoerced consent.
Glaring at him, hoping my rage leaped out of my eyes and stabbed his, I opened my mouth, drawing his finger past my lips.
Because I wanted this experience to hurt him as much as it hurt me, I deliberately moaned in the back of my throat, licking the frosting off his finger with a slow, sensual caress.
Yes. If my fall was inevitable, I would yank him clawing and screeching down with me. I would do everything I could to sidestep this game, but if I could not, I would win it. Or, at the very least, maneuver us into a stalemate.
His jaw clenched, and the crackling energy in the air leaped. Acknowledged, the silence seemed to say. Challenge accepted.
He fed me from his hand until the last bite of cake, and there he paused. Instead of plucking the final morsel and holding it to my mouth, he lifted it to his.
I started to relax.
Highly foolish of me. His hands clamped on my wrists, hauling me to my feet and against his body.
I grabbed his biceps instinctively as his arm slid around my waist to hold me tight against him.
“Renaud!” I snarled his name, as if that would stop whatever fiendish plan was going on inside his head.
The Prince angled his head and his mouth covered mine.
Trembling, I squeezed my thighs together, the tension in the hard muscles of his body reminding me of his lethal power and strength.
He slid his hand down, cupping my ass, and pressed me against his groin. Whatever grip he kept on his sexuality, he now released. Just a little. Just enough.
Did I even stand a chance against him? My eyes closed, lips opening on a gasp. His tongue slipped into my mouth, pushing the last bite of cake inside me.
Renaud's kiss was harsh, possessive. The cake dissolved in my mouth as his tongue attacked mine, diving in and out in blatant rhythm.
Desire flared, and I moaned, forgetting hatred for a moment. My nails gripped his biceps, and the muscles flexed under my touch. He shifted, pulling me even closer, and plundered my mouth. The hand in my hair tightened painfully.
“Aerinne,” he growled my name against my lips. “In case your youth and ignorance have allowed you to construct a delusion, let me reiterate my intent. You are mine. I will keep you.”
I tore my mouth away, heart sinking. “I'm not yours. I will never belong to you.” Bull, meet cape.
Not doing greatsteering this convo, Rinne.
